Tepes, The Imapler
by docturlough
Summary: AU, The story of the newly vampirized Dracula, fresh after making his deal with the devil, has sworn to destroy those who would destroy him. Rated T for violence, he is the Impaler after all.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: **_This story is a metafiction, based on the life of Vlad III Dracula, and it is set shortly after his death and resurrection as the count we all know. I decided to leave the story and exposition till next chapter, for now, we'll have some full on gore and violence._

His silhouette was fear embodied to his enemies, his cast iron armour framed by his simple, silken cloak, torn and stained by the sodden earth on which they fought. He dodged by a swung spear and whipped his sword across the attacker's throat, then kicked the spear up into his hand and threw it across the warzone, it struck a knight through the heart, before he had even fell Vlad's unnatural strength let him move faster than a normal armoured knight and with it, he raced across the battlefield, his sword moving as Death's scythe, sweeping across his adversaries, severing vital arteries and preparing them for his descending forces, he gripped the end of the spear once again, and lifted the corpse of his victim high above his fellow Templars, sowing them a warning, _You deal with Vlad Tepes here, fools,_ the message spoke, _You deal with the Dragon's son. _Their blood stung in his nostrils, and he descended on a lone warrior on the edge of the battlefield, half-hiding in the foggy, grey woodland. Vlad struck him at full force, pushing him into the nearest tree, the knight struggled against Vlad's hold, but only in vain, Vlad removed his horned helmet, allowing his popping jaws room to move, his eyes darkened and his face shifted, his lips being pushed apart by the steadily growing teeth within. He bared them at his frightened victim, who screamed, his cry of panic barely audible above the roar of battle, he barely had begun screaming before Vlad's teeth tore into his throat, his blood beating faster out of panic, Vlad fed, draining the last of the knight's reserves, the warrior went limp, allowing the creature of darkness to feast on his lifeblood. What fell from Vlad's grasp was a man, what hit the ground could barely be called one, nothing more than a hollow shell.

With fresh blood coursing through his veins, Vlad stood, his back arched to the moonlit sky, he could see the black wolves in the shadows of the forest, smell the salivating crows that feasted on the carrion of the battle, and hear the arrow flitting towards his heart. He sidestepped with an inhuman grace, and the arrow missed, he saw past the bloodshed and war, into the trees, and saw that the archer knew he saw him. The panicked archer fell from the branch he sat at but felt no pain, the demon-king had his scent, the man whom God hid in fear of, the animal in human form, and his attention was on him, all that mattered to the knight was running, but he had barely made it more than a few steps before Dracula's dagger was raked across his throat. The dying knight looked to his side and saw the behemoth that was Sir Percival, a massive battleaxe in his arms, his eyes bore the message of sadness that the knight did not want to see this day, _**I am sorry, my friend, but it must be done. **_The knight nodded, and steeled himself for the oncoming, as Sir Percival brought his axe through is friend, trying to kill the Devil's child, who leapt into the air, too fast for the simple mortal axe, he danced through the branches of the tree above him, before leaping down fast enough to take the head from Sir Percival's shoulder's with his tempered steel blade. Templars, how he hated them.

The Templars had been sent here by England and the Vatican's mutual consent that he had to die, and he was not prepared to go down without a fight, it had taken him all of one night to build an army from a town of people who feared the castle in the dark forest, just south of their town, now it seems they had died in vain, the Templars were trained in vampire-hunting, and they surrounded him now, his forces defeated and their religious items destroyed, they had only their swords against his. He donned his helmet, obscuring all of his face behind shadow, all but his piercing red eyes, that burned beyond the confines of shadow, and his voice erupted from the cast iron like a church bell.

"Now!"

From his castle, archers lined the walls like crows before slaughter, their arrows flew like rain, the Templars turned in surprise, leaving them open for an attack, as the arrows tore through their armour like tapestry. After the onslaught, Vlad strode through the corpses, listening for the symphony that was always waiting at the end of a battle, the final groan of the strongest warrior, it had been a full five minutes before the soldier couldn't hold it any longer, Dracula found him, crouched in the earth, his stomach in his hands, fighting against the bonds of pain that held him, Vlad leaned by his head, and plunged his sword into the earth by his ear, causing him to look up.

"Tell, me warrior," He said, his eyes showing something akin to sympathy, an emotion he hadn't felt since his youth, "Do you feel Death's cold fingers?"

The Knight nodded, tears welling in his blue eyes.

"I can offer you a release from it." Dracula promised, "All you have to do is renounce the God that reduced you to this."

The knight nodded, "P-P-Please, I want to live." He cried.

Dracula laid a hand on the knights head, calming him, already he felt his teeth pushing his mouth open.

_**Author's endnote**_: _What did you guys think? I would like to cite C.C. Humphreys as an inspiration for this, and I would highly recommend his novel: Vlad: The Last Confession, seriously, it's awesome, so R&R please!_


	2. Chapter 2

He felt so frail, so weak. How did it come to this, how had he, Vlad Dracula, been bested? He stood, the ragged battlefield sprawled out before him. His throat burned with a terrible thirst, he was so parched. His skin was stark white and cold as ice, made all the colder in contrast to his screaming throat. He up from the earth, he remembered being shot, and nothing more. He had a simple black cloak draped over his shoulders, despite being an older man, he was strong. But now, he saw his hands as old for the first time, pale skin stretched loose over long fingers, he looked malnourished, his ribs were showing clearly through his chest and the wind whistled across his bald head, which he did not remember shaving.

The battlefield was black with the night, the moonlight casting pale illumination across the corpses discarded by their comrades. He stood alone. Yet, he was not. He felt a presence he had not felt in years, and saw another, a middle aged warrior standing in the centre of the bodies.

"F-father?" God, his throat was sore. He needed a drink.

The man turned and walked away. Yes, it was his father, dead, yet alive. But still as he was in life, strong, healthy, powerful. He followed suit, and the cold snow felt as warm blankets on his feet. The walk behind his father was an hour, and it was a hundred years. He thought of his life, and of his children, left him to war. His beloved Ilona, now dead, his friends had met their end by the edge of a blade and the tip of an arrow. His father entered a cave, and so VVlad entered the abyss, too.

There was a flame, and his father's silhouette was between the cold Dracula and the warm flame. His father's mouth opened and moved as though speaking, but no words came out. The silence was broken by a rush of air and sound and his father's voice.

"Vlad, where does your loyalty lie?" The voice echoed in his memory, as though his father had asked him that question every day of his life.

"With God, as did yours, father." His throat stung, the thirst eclipsing all other thoughts.

His father hissed at his answer, "The God that led you to battle, to death? Why stand by Him, when your power could be forever?" His voiced boomed like an earthquake. Vlad was shocked, his father renounced God before him, and the comfort of this made Vlad feel empty.

"Who else am I to stand by? Allah? The Turks deity?" Vlad roared at this figment of his father, a lie from Satan, sent to tempt his immortal soul, he saw this for what it was, purgatory. Choose your path, heaven or hell.

"You are the devil incarnate, that is what they called you!" Vlad turned and stumbled out of the cave, before he could reach the opening, the flames behind him exploded outwards, Vlads frail figure fell to the ground, and the wind rushed from him.

"No, Vlad," His father's voice growled from behind him, "Not the Devil. The Dragon!"

Vlad turned, and his emerald eyes shot open in horror. The flames seared away the walls around him, and there stood a massive black dragon, its eyes a burning red and its mouth dripping with orange flames. Vlad rolled onto his feet, the ground he lay on crumbling beneath the dragon's fire. Vlad lifted a sword he didn't know was there, it wasn't his sword, his father's sword, The Dragon's Talon, but a heavier longsword. He rushed to the dragon's chest, trying to banish the devil from his home, but the dragon batted him away, and his ribs broke on the cave behind him. He fell to the ground, he felt so old. His heavy head raised to look at his enemy, while his weak hand tried to grab the sword. But the dragon's mouth opened in front of his eyes, and the fire flew forth from it effortlessly. Vlad howled in pain, his eyes screwing shut. But the pain subsided, and he stood on uneasy ground. He opened his eyes, his head down, and he saw the hill of human skulls he stood on, he looked up, and saw his father standing before him, not the powerful Voivode, but the loving parent Vlad saw in private, he held out a bowl in his hands.

"Drink deep, Vladislaus." His voice was soft, and full of hope.

Vlad was old, and he was tired, and he couldn't fight anymore. What had God given him, that warring for Him had not taken away. Vlad put his hands on his father's and drank, the taste of copper filling his mouth, and he felt young again.

...

Vlad awoke to see the moonlight, flooding in the window beside his coffin, all across the castle, coffin lids creaked open and half-souls walked through his castle, his warriors going about their duties, and his generals moving to the main hall. He himself paused and thought over his dream, his memory, then he dressed and looked at himself in the mirror, he stood there a young man who had died, yet lived, he had sworn a life to bloodshed and war, and a deal was a deal, even if it was with the devil.

Vlad "Tepes" Dracula stepped into the great hall and took a seat at the head of his table, all looked upon him in fear and respect.

"Well,men? How do we kill a warrior of God?"


End file.
